“I've been thinking, Hunch—-”
“We're going to lie up to-morrow.”
“I can't do it soon as that.”
“'Course you can.”
Bruce hesitated, and snapped shavings with his thumb.
“Say, Hunch, you know more about girls 'n I do. Don't you s'pose you could kind of—talk to her just a little—”
“No, I couldn't. You go round there to-morrow, understand.”
“I ain't going to do that, Hunch——”
“You tell me you ain't and I'll break your head!” Badeau stood over Bruce, who was fumbling with his knife. “Who's captain of this schooner, me or you? When I say, you got to do it, it ain't none of your business whether you want to or not. Understand?”
Toward noon, on Sunday, they slid in between the breakwaters, and beat across the harbor to the wharf. Badeau kept a close watch on Bruce, confining him to the schooner all day. At dusk, dressed in his best, which included a rhinestone stud, Bruce started out. Hunch had supervised every detail of the toilet, and had forced on Bruce his own red tie, which he preferred to Bruce's checked one. Now he walked sternly alongside.